A Girl in the Woods
by Anthropomorphic Dragon
Summary: This story takes place after the tragic events of WD: Season 1. Clementine Greenlee is on her own, fighting desperately to save her new group, a new member of the team safe, and her faith in humanity alive. She learns who to depend on and who to never trust. She learns to harden her heart.


**I've become exactly what Lee would have hated to see.**

Chapter 1

"What do you think?" Omid and Christa are walking up ahead, scouting (I think that means checking something out) a bathroom lodge.

"Omid, you can't be serious." Christa shakes her head as though he's hopeless, but laughs as she does. She rubs a hand across her stomach, which is stretched so it looks like she swallowed something like a watermelon. I smile a little.

"I am."

"We are NOT doing that." Christa and Omid stand up and motion for me to follow.

"Why not?"

"Because!"

"Come on, Christa! What's wrong with 'Omid'?" I step over a log to catch up. It's not fair - they're tall and have long legs so they can walk fast.

Christa sighs dramatically. "We are not calling our baby Omid. One of you is enough." She twists a little to face me at the exact same time as Omid and they both say, "Clem? A little help?"

I give an exaggerated shrug and raise my sleeve up to my mouth. He lags behind and loops an arm around my shoulder, jerking me closer to him. "Aw, Clementine. Are you still all Clemmed up?" He laughs at his own bad joke while Christa groans. "Omid Sr'll get you talking again. I promise." I smile and take the hand that's draped around my shoulder, and squeeze it. He ruffles my...hat affectionately before drifting back to his girlfriend.

I guess I shouldn't be too whiny; we're alive, warm, fed and in no immediate danger. That's a lot to ask for these days.

"You always agree with him." Christa rolls her eyes.

"It's because I'm always right."

"You're not taking this seriously."

"Of course I am." He grins when we reach the bathroom doors. "I take everything seriously. Especially little Omid's future." Christa stops, opens the boys' door. "Keep talkin' and you'll be sleepin in the rain tonight." I notice a can over to the side. It's silver and blue and smells like Gatorade. And empty. I kick it off the bathroom porch. When I look back up, Christa's giving him this weird look - her eyes are only half-open and her lips are pooched up like she ate something sour. "Remember that weekend in Barstow?" she asks with a low giggle.

Omid keeps looking over to me and her. "Why don't you, uh, get cleaned up in the girl's room, Clem?" I stare at them, wide-eyed. "Oh, don't look at us like that. We'll be right next door, don't worry."

Honestly, I don't like being alone very much anymore but I'm almost 12 and too old to be frightened of empty rooms and the dark and hot dog buns so I give a feeble smile and head in.

As soon as I open the door with a pink stick figure, a mossy and thick smell nearly knocks me over. No one's cleaned it in years. A slick mould is crawling over the cracked, no-colour tiles and something cold is dripping from the water-stained ceiling. Not exactly the best place to wash up, but…

I take my gun and make sure it's loaded. With a kick I open the first stall. It opens to reveal

duh

duh

 **DUH**

Nothing.

Just some garbage. Stuff so useless even the scavengers can't find a way to recycle them. I scare myself when the door clicks shut with a metallic _clink_. The second stall is the same and the third. No walkers.

I trudge over to the counter and shrug my backpack off. It lands wetly on the counter. Up above is is a mirror still intact. It reflects a shaggy mop of light brown hair covering a solemn white face topped with a purple-and-white baseball cap. A part of me knows that mop is me, but still.

My name is Clementine.

Ask me about my life before and honestly, I can't tell you much. I was in the fourth grade, my parents travelled a lot, my favourite meal was macaroni and cheese with hot dogs cut up into it and I had a marginal talent for drawing.

Ask me about the past eighteen months, and that's a whole new story. I can tell you about Kenny and how he lost his family in one day, how a group of sick cannibals tried to trick us into eating - eating! - our friend Mark's severed leg. How I was stupid enough to run away from Lee because I thought a stranger on my walkie talkie had my parents. And I can say plenty about Lee Everett. I loved him. It's ten months since...since I killed him and I still remember every comforting word word, lost temper, promises made, acted on and broken. He was honest with me and admitted he was on the way to jail for murder (killing someone who isn't a walker) when we met. His mystery of an ex wife hated him, his parents and brother wanted nothing to do with him. But to me, Lee is a hero. He's a good man. I still have his sweater. It's a dark blue, like a navy, and baggy on me and used to smell like him. He gave it to me because I was small and didn't deal with the cold well. Whenever I miss him real bad I press my face into it and try to remember the comforting scent. It'll never bring him back, but it helps

 _(You killed him)_

I take my cap off and stare at myself in the mirror. My eyes are almost too big for my face. They're green and glimmer like wet glass. Bangs hang into these eyes. I'm only eleven-and-three-quarters. (That counts). And look, acne is already dotting on my cheeks. I need to wash my face.

In my backpack I find a gauze pad. I'm not hurt and don't plan to be anytime soon (like I have any control over _that)_ so I take out my water bottle and let a dribble of water wet it. I push my hair back and dab the pad around my forehead, nose, scrub the dirt from my cheeks one layer at a time. Maybe in another universe or place I could be a safe, happy girl. People would be alive. I wouldn't be constantly missing my baby photos or cooked food or hugs from my mom. But this isn't the place to think bout that. I need to -

The water bottle tips over when I reach for it, and rolls away. Shoot. I flip my cap back on and follow it to the third stall.

As soon as I'm in the cubicle, the bathroom door creaks open. Instinctively I think it's Christa and Omid but if it was, they'd call my name. So I close my own door and put one foot on the porcelain rim and press a hand against the green walls. Ew. _Ewww_. And lift myself up, crouching just above the bowl so no one'll see my face, or my feet.

Someone who kind of looks like her but is definitely not Christa stalks over to my pink backpack. Stupid Clementine, stupid, STUPID Clementine. I left my gun on the counter, which the girl must have noticed cause I see a hand dart out and grab it. Her footsteps get louder.

"I see you." She says sharply. I can see the end of my own pistol pointed at me. "Standin' on the toilet. Get outta there." I stay frozen on my perch. "Hey. You're NOT foolin' me. Come on out now. Get out here."

I step down, and unlock my stall. The girl yanks me into the open. "You got anythin' on you? Come on, let's see." I swallow hard and say nothing. She kind of scares me. Her pink sweater covered in dust has bloodstains on it. "I ain't gonna ask again." She says and shakes the gun. I cringe and shrink back into myself but she doesn't shoot. "I'm serious! What else you got?" The girl narrows her eyes and looks even more annoyed at the silence. "Don't play stupid - I'll pop you...give me your hat." What?! "I'm not screwing around!"

For a moment I'm about to actually do it but then I look over to the door. Maybe I can...

"Don't." The girl snarls. "Now give me that hat."

Even though I'm scared, I don't give in. I shake my head and at that the girl seems to give up. "...where'd you get it?" She asks suspiciously. I think of saying I killed someone for it but think betterlf it at the last minute. My dad gave me this hat when I was eight. I've been wearing it for almost 4 years - she's _not_ getting this hat. She sighs loudly and goes back to searching my bag. "Junk, junk, junk. Look at all this junk." The girl rips through my stuff and cries out "Shit, shit, and more shit." She turns to me. "Why you ain't got nothing good? Not like the last people I got. They had all kinda of good shit on them."

Behind her the door creeps open just a bit, and I see Omid. His eyes go really big but he doesn't make a sound. She keeps talking. "You ain't got nothin' good. You just a little fish. You gonna cry, little fish?" She means little like a minnow. The mean girl goes back to my bag. I have to keep from crying out when she holds up my photo of Lee. "Is this your daddy? What a bozo." She laughs like a hyena. I'll kill her. **I'll KILL HER.** Just have to - Omid sneaks closer.

 _Clink_

The door! It shuts noisily. It sounds

(KaPOW...BOom)

like thunder.

 _BANG_

Someone screams. I can't tell if it's Little Fish, the girl, or Christa, who's come running in after him. Omid gasps silently and presses a hand against his chest. Dark red leaks out between his fingers. It reminds me of whenever my Mom spilled wine. She drops my pistols.

"I-I-I didn't mean to!" She squeals. "It w-was an accident! I didn't mean to! I d-didn't m-"

Christa doesn't even hesitate. **BANG**. The girls...stomach sprays across the tiles. Splatters of it splash onto my tights. She falls against the wall.

"OMID!" I holler and fall to my knees. His huge brown eyes roll up and flutter. Christa cradles his head on her lap, sobbing so hard her shoulders are shaking. She looks at me like I'm some kind of monster.

My gun. My fault.

 _(Monster)_

"Oh god...Omid?...OH GOD...Omid? Omid, can you hear me?"


End file.
